


Trip

by universalworst



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalworst/pseuds/universalworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like lilac and cyan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trip

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I wrote for a modern AU in which Theon Greyjoy's tie to Ramsay is embodied in a dealer/addict relationship.

You tried writing about it afterwards, but how do you describe colors you've never imagined and sensations you've never felt? You could grasp at strings as the images faded from your memory, but strings don't make a story.

* * *

Like lilac and cyan, it wasn't so much a color one might see on a spectrum or a wheel. It added a third dimension—a "pop", almost a sort of luminosity—but not exactly. It was bright like a neon sign but it didn't hurt your eyes. It wasn't loud—why would a color be loud?—but looking at it made your ears bleed.

Or. Rather. You thought your ears bled, that is. When you reached up to stop them your hands came back dry and clean.

A stupid grin spread across your face as the neon hues bounced and reverberated inside your head, and you felt closer to divinity than you'd ever been before.

"Show me the Seven!" you shouted, and the acoustics of whatever strange dimension you were trapped in were stunning. Your words echoed back at you, but not in your voice; in the infinitely deep and infinitely beautiful cyan and lilac voice—that doesn't make sense, you can't hear color—of the Father. You /knew/ it was the Father. The massive chamber was the Father's heart, you realized, and everything that hit its walls, every wave of sound and every beam of light, bounced back to you touched by his transcendental flesh.

"FAAAATHEEEEER!" you shouted.

"YOUUUU HAAAVE NOOO FAAAATHEEEEER!" the echo reminded you, and you'd never heard anything so beautiful in your entire life. It was so beautiful you wept.

"Where is the Drowned God?" you asked, smiling as tears ran down your cheeks in fluorescent purple streaks.

"Where is the Drowned God?" was the echo's response, and you laughed, because you knew there was no such thing as the Drowned God.

The sirens began to pierce the chamber walls faintly enough that you didn't hear them at first. But gradually, they began tearing apart the beautiful heart of the Father, and the response to your screams was an echoed hushing. _Hush, child. Hush._  
  
It was nighttime, outside the ruins of the Father's heart. Glancing back, you saw your childhood home. Funny.

The yard was filled with officers and paramedics, sirens wailing and flashing, and suddenly it didn't seem so funny anymore, because you knew what night it was.

"Where's Mum?" little Asha screamed as the men with police sirens for faces escorted her to a large siren-shaped car.

The men responded to her by making siren noises.

Beside the body bags containing Rodrik and Maron's bloodied remains, a little boy lied dead in the yard. The little boy was you once; you could tell, even though your vision was clouded. His eyes were black holes drilled into his head, absorbing the light of the ambulances, and his mouth was open, dark red blood trickling out. You felt compelled to approach him, to shake him hard and wake him up. But your feet were like chunks of lead and you couldn't move.  
Have you been dead ever since that night?

_Dead? Maybe. Maybe?_

Everything after that awful night was all a fever dream in the last living moments of a dying child with black pits for eyes.

Your tears were normal now, but no longer flowing; just two thin streaks congealing on your face. You were more shocked than saddened.

 _You died that night, with your brothers._  
_You were dead._  
_You'd been dead all this time._

* * *

You woke up in a studio apartment, sharing a twin bed with a girl you'd only spoken with once or twice sober. Disentangling yourself from her embrace, you began to search for your clothes.  
  
She didn't seem offended when she woke up and saw you creeping towards the door.  
  
"Some trip last night, ah?" she mumbled tiredly.  
  
You turned around and faced her. You didn't even remember her name. "...Some trip," you echoed.  
  
"Stay for breakfast?" Her words sounded more obligatory than a genuine request. That much was a relief, since you didn't really want to hurt the girl's feelings.  
  
"Nah." You slung your backpack over one shoulder.  
  
She seemed to share your relief. "Right. See you 'round."  
  
"See you."

* * *

You walked back towards Ramsay's place, head down-turned, expression one of resignation.

He was going to do it today. You knew it in your gut. He'd threatened it for weeks. "Pay up, or I'll take what you owe in flesh and blood. Finger. Toe. I'm a nice chap, so I'll let you decide."

If it had been anyone else you would have called their bluff. But Ramsay wasn't bluffing. He'd already taken one of your teeth, a molar on the bottom left of your mouth. You had never felt such pain. You'd never screamed like that.

Yet you walked on towards his home. Where else was there to go? Asha worked two jobs and nagged you whenever you visited, throwing you out after a day or two. Mr. Stark had finally drawn the line and forbidden you from entering their home until you'd be able to repay the money you stole. You didn't have any friends. Not really.  
  
And Ramsay had the _stuff_. He had _all_ of it. The stuff that kept you alive and sane, the stuff that made you feel happy, transient as that happiness might have been. Stuff that was worth the occasional minor body part.  
  
You stopped walking.  
  
That damn bridge, the highway over the river. You walked over it every day, and every day you thought about jumping.  
  
Once, you'd climbed up on the railing and let go of the suspension cable and succeeded in scaring Robb half to death.  
  
"Don't you ever think of it?" you'd asked him, arms spread for balance as cars rushed by on the road behind you. "Jumping?"  
  
"Theon, get down! Now!"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"THEON!"  
  
You laughed and grabbed the cable again, hopping back down beside your irate foster brother. "Why did you do that?" Robb snapped.  
  
"I felt like it," you replied with a tone of arrogance.  
  
You felt like it again today. Staring down at the river far below the bridge, a small smile crept across your lips as you envisioned yourself tumbling down, crashing through the dark water below, and never resurfacing.  
  
It was a beautiful thought.  
  
Dropping your backpack on the sidewalk, you grabbed the cable overhead and hoisted yourself onto the railing.  
  
"Reek!"  
  
Your mouth went dry. Only one person called you by that name.  
_'Jump, jump!'_ a tiny voice shouted. _'Quick!'_  
  
"The fuck are you doing?"  
  
You swallowed back bile and turned to look down at the man who'd had you on a chain for months.  
  
"I asked you a question," Ramsay snapped. "What the fuck are you doing? Are you going to kill yourself?"  
  
Lips parted slightly, you continued staring at him wordlessly. He mimicked your expression. "What? Are you? Do you have the balls, Reek? You can try, if you want. Of course, I'll have to handle your affairs, since I'm the only person you're still in good contact with... How was the slut last night, by the way? Was she so bad you're going to end it all?"  
  
Too many words were thrown at you all at once. Still in a bit of a haze, you struggled to take it all in.  
  
"Answer me, you fucking freak!"  
  
"I don't remember how she was," you replied lamely. "I was on acid. So was she, I think."  
  
"Fucking pathetic," Ramsay laughed. "So are you going to jump, or aren't you?"  
  
You looked at him, and he looked at you, eyebrows raised expectantly.  
  
You climbed back down to safety and lifted up your backpack.

Ramsay sneered and clasped your shoulder. "Come on then, Reek," he said cheerfully. "I have a whole host of lovely presents for you back at the shop! But I have to ask... which body part would you say you need the _least?_ "


End file.
